I'm starting to think that the chickens are smarter than I give them credit for. The other night I was hanging out in the living room and it was creeping up on 9 PM, which is when the chickens generally put themselves in the coop and wait for me to come close the door. I was surprised to see that Daisy (the leader of the pack) and Tallulah (bucking for a promotion) were out on the back porch peering in at me. I sort of ignored them for a bit, but then they started making this odd, distressed sort of clucking. After about ten minutes of them milling around, pecking at the screen door, and hollering at me, I stopped what I was doing and went outside. They jogged next to me as we walked to the coop; they were acting so frantic that I half expected to find that PingPong or LuAnn had been eaten by some predator or something. When the three of us got to the chicken run, I saw PingPong and LuAnn standing next to the little gangway, peering at the coop door, and chirping in a distressed way.
My almost-four-year-old son had closed up the coop door, unbeknownst to me. They couldn't get in. I could just picture them all, locked in cognitive dissonance: "Sun going down! Must go to bed! Can't get in! Sun going down! Must go to bed! Can't get in!" until the older two came to the back door seeking help. They were all very relieved when I put the gangway back down so they could clamber inside for the night.
My almost-four-year-old son had closed up the coop door, unbeknownst to me. They couldn't get in. I could just picture them all, locked in cognitive dissonance: "Sun going down! Must go to bed! Can't get in! Sun going down! Must go to bed! Can't get in!" until the older two came to the back door seeking help. They were all very relieved when I put the gangway back down so they could clamber inside for the night.
